Agatha Christie by The Man in the Mist: A Tommy, Tuppence Adventure Page B

you, sir,’ he said to Tommy. ‘From Miss Gilda Glen.’
    Tommy tore it open and read it with some curiosity. Inside were a few lines written in a straggling untidy hand.
    I’m not sure, but I think you might be able to help me. And you’ll be going that way to the station. Could you be at The White House, Morgan’s Avenue, at ten minutes past six?
    Yours sincerely,
    Â Â  Gilda Glen.
    Tommy nodded to the page, who departed, and then handed the note to Tuppence.
    â€˜Extraordinary!’ said Tuppence. ‘Is it because she still thinks you’re a priest?’
    â€˜No,’ said Tommy thoughtfully. ‘I should say it’s because she’s at last taken in that I’m not one. Hullo! what’s this?’
    â€˜This,’ was a young man with flaming red hair, a pugnacious jaw, and appallingly shabby clothes. He had walked into the room and was now striding up and down muttering to himself.
    â€˜Hell!’ said the red-haired man, loudly and forcibly. ‘That’s what I say – Hell!’
    He dropped into a chair near the young couple and stared at them moodily.
    â€˜Damn all women, that’s what I say,’ said the young man, eyeing Tuppence ferociously. ‘Oh! all right, kick up a row if you like. Have me turned out of the hotel. It won’t be for the first time. Why shouldn’t we say what we think? Why should we go about bottling up our feelings, and smirking, and saying things exactly like everyone else. I don’t feel pleasant and polite. I feel like getting hold of someone round the throat and gradually choking them to death.’
    He paused.
    â€˜Any particular person?’ asked Tuppence. ‘Or just anybody?’
    â€˜One particular person,’ said the young man grimly.
    â€˜This is very interesting,’ said Tuppence. ‘Won’t you tell us some more?’
    â€˜My name’s Reilly,’ said the red-haired man. ‘James Reilly. You may have heard it. I wrote a little volume of Pacifist poems – good stuff, although I say so.’
    â€˜ Pacifist poems ?’ said Tuppence.
    â€˜Yes – why not?’ demanded Mr Reilly belligerently.
    â€˜Oh! nothing,’ said Tuppence hastily.
    â€˜I’m for peace all the time,’ said Mr Reilly fiercely. ‘To Hell with war. And women! Women! Did you see that creature who was trailing around here just now? Gilda Glen, she calls herself. Gilda Glen! God! how I’ve worshipped that woman. And I’ll tell you this – if she’s got a heart at all, it’s on my side. She cared once for me, and I could make her care again. And if she sells herself to that muck heap, Leconbury – well, God help her. I’d as soon kill her with my own hands.’
    And on this, suddenly, he rose and rushed from the room.
    Tommy raised his eyebrows.
    â€˜A somewhat excitable gentleman,’ he murmured. ‘Well, Tuppence, shall we start?’
    A fine mist was coming up as they emerged from the hotel into the cool outer air. Obeying Estcourt’s directions, they turned sharp to the left, and in a few minutes they came to a turning labelled Morgan’s Avenue.
    The mist had increased. It was soft and white, and hurried past them in little eddying drifts. To their left was the high wall of the cemetery, on their right a row of small houses. Presently these ceased, and a high hedge took their place.
    â€˜Tommy,’ said Tuppence. ‘I’m beginning to feel jumpy. The mist – and the silence. As though we were miles from anywhere.’
    â€˜One does feel like that,’ agreed Tommy. ‘All alone in the world. It’s the effect of the mist, and not being able to see ahead of one.’
    Tuppence nodded.
    â€˜Just our footsteps echoing on the pavement. What’s that?’
    â€˜What’s what?’
    â€˜I thought I heard other footsteps behind us.’
    â€˜You’ll be seeing the ghost in a minute